by Tracy Ewens
“Huh, well I wish I could help you out, big brother, but I’m trapped in the puppet show right now and Meg is… not puppet material.”
“Is she having a problem with all the attention? You know a couple of days ago I saw a meme of you on Twitter. Do you have any idea how fucking odd it is to see my brother in a meme?”
“I’m not even sure what a meme is, Trick.”
“This one was a clip from one of your movies and it said something like, ‘When your girl tells you to stop by the grocery store.’”
West waited to see if there was more, glanced at his brother, and realized that was it. “I don’t get it.”
“You have to see it.”
“I’m okay.”
Patrick bumped his shoulder. “Anyway, the meme is not my point. Meg seems to be dealing with your… situation. Am I missing something?”
“I walked off the set Thursday night. Broke the cardinal rule of being a puppet and drew attention to myself. I’m sure it’s all over the Internet by now. With that and the extra buzz of a new Throttle coming up, the swarms are getting larger. I flew home for Meg’s sister’s wedding and there were people at the airport waiting for me with signs and cameras. That was before my latest screw up.”
“We’re talking about women, right?”
West nodded.
“I never saw the hardship before, but I’m sure it’s different now.”
“It is. She’s about so much more than the world I’m in right now. I’d rather let her go than see it hurt her.”
“What? That’s nuts. Can’t your people do anything to settle things down?”
West grunted. “Have they been able to do anything before Meg?”
“No, but aren’t there laws now?”
“There are some, but mostly when it comes to children.”
“Well, there you go. We’ve come full circle. You need to marry that woman and have a baby. Why are you standing here with me? Get started,” Patrick said, taking West’s bottle and depositing them both in a recycle bin as Boyd and Cade walked over to join them.
“I’m sorry, did the break whistle blow, assholes?” Cade said, grabbing a beer for Boyd and himself.
He conveniently forgot to get them another. Typical. Thank God his parents had four boys or West would be more on his own than he already felt. They all stood shoulder to shoulder surveying years of work and the years to come. West missed being part of something, missed working for little or no recognition.
Are you going to marry her? He replayed his brother’s question and while his heart was wrapped in the fantasy, he knew what was coming. He’d spent years in the spotlight and watched other actors draw attention to themselves. Any kind of scandal, any vulnerability and rag magazines, along with the public, pounced. He’d messed up, and he had a feeling it was going to cost him a lot more than a slap on the wrist and several thousand dollars.
Meg had to admit, the sight of all four of them standing in the open warehouse of the brewery, jeans and flannels, some with knit caps, and wearing worn-in boots, was more than one woman deserved. She’d been given breakfast and a tour of the vegetable garden behind the McNaughton home before listening to directions to the brewery that now stood in the center of downtown Petaluma. West had been yanked from bed early by his brothers and was “working guilt labor,” as his father put it when he gave Meg the keys to his truck so she could drive into town.
She pulled her hood up to the afternoon chill and continued walking toward them. There he was, the man she loved to complete distraction, standing with his brothers. He was one of them, and despite his current furrowed brow, no doubt at something his brother said, he looked happier than she’d seen him since they’d met.
Family did that to a person, allowed for teasing and flaws. Not all families were that way, of course. There’d be nothing good on television or in the movies if families were that simple, but when it worked, as it appeared to work for the McNaughtons, there was nothing like it.
Meg was still unnoticed, so she raised her camera and took a few long shots. By the time she was inside the brewery, they all had their backs to her but she was close enough to hear their voices as she snapped a few shots of the view and then realized what they were talking about.
“A couple called this morning before you came down,” Cade said. “I screwed with them, which is a good time. Used the Undead Mortuary, how can I help you? I love the silence while they try to figure it out. Best part.”
They all turned when Meg’s flash went off. Turned wasn’t the right word. People turned to greet a friend, even turned on a dance floor. What the four McNaughton brothers did in greeting to Meg and her camera was almost a pounce.
West grabbed Boyd by the back of his shirt—he’d already taken three bounding steps toward her. The surprise must have registered on Meg’s face when she stepped back. All three of West’s brothers held up their hands.
“Whoa, whoa. Sorry, Meg. We were… shit. Sorry about that, we didn’t see you.”
West approached her, smiling, and Meg felt her shoulders ease. Sliding her camera strap over her neck and pushing the camera to her back, she met him halfway.
“I’m sorry. I was taking pictures outside and I…” She glanced up at his brothers, who were now back in their usual relaxed repose. “Sorry.”
“We’re allergic to cameras these days. Kind of a shame. Hey, if any of those turn out, would you send them to me?” Patrick said. “I can’t remember the last time we all had our picture together.”
“One of us should get married,” Cade said. All eyes were on him. “What? We could get dressed up and take a picture. That’s all I was saying. Jesus. Tension, so much tension.”
“Hey,” West finally said and kissed her. Soft and warm, his tongue dipped between her lips and Meg realized some of their best kissing had been in the past twenty-four hours. Maybe they could buy a place in Petaluma and live happily ever after, her silly heart wondered. By the time all his brothers had joined in the grumbling, West pulled back.
“Who called this morning?” Meg asked.
“You’ve got to work on your technique, man. A woman should not be asking about paparazzi if you’re doing it right.”
“Shut it, Cade.”
“Why are they calling your home?”
“Because I walked off set. It’s kind of a feeding frenzy right now. Who can get the first shot of me post meltdown? Who’s going to get the scoop on what happened?”
“Slow news day?” Meg tried to lighten the weight in his expression.
She was rewarded with a smile. “Something like that. Hannah sent a car. I’ll leave mine here for a while. We need to get back to the house and pack. Vince should be there in about an hour. Did you have breakfast?”
Meg nodded and glanced over West’s shoulder. His brothers flashed the half smile of men who knew more than they were letting on. Whatever it was, they’d deal with it. How bad could this frenzy be? If it was anything comparable to what they’d experienced at the smart house, they’d be fine.
“Okay, well I guess we better get going,” she said.
After hugging all three of West’s brothers, Meg took his hand and they climbed into his parents’ truck, but not before Patrick said, “Drive safe. We’ll see you at the wedding, Meg.”
“Who’s getting married?” she asked.
West shook his head.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
By the time they said good-bye to his parents and Vince once again closed them into the backseat, tension had crept into West’s body, somehow made worse by the peace and normal of spending time with his family. Worse still by having Meg there, being able to show her what they could be. Although he was certain, now that they were on their way back to the city, that what he’d imagined might work wasn’t possible. It wasn’t fair. But he had no clue how to prepare his heart or Meg for what he knew was coming next.
He closed his eyes. She had fallen asleep under his arm and there was a part of him, a survival instin
ct, that wanted to gently set her upright and begin creating distance. He should have done that, but his heart was warm and pulsing in his chest and asking for a few more minutes. So, he pulled her sleeping body closer, stroked her hair, and pretended.
Hannah had called security and texted West that reporters were at Regis’s offices in both LA and San Francisco. There was a group outside the hotel and a larger group outside Meg’s apartment. Shit!
“The ability to contain the situation is far better at the hotel. There are six security guys there, two in the front and two more than your usual at the side entrance. I’ve asked for a barricade, but I’m not getting a response from local police.”
“They probably have a whole hell of a lot more to worry about,” West had said.
“I checked with my contacts and one shot of you is going for 15K, you and Meg are up to 30K, and any conflict—listen to me, West—any scene or act of confrontation brings those scumbags one hundred thousand dollars. Please think about that when you emerge from that car. Don’t give these bastards a payday. You’ve never stirred this pot and I’m telling you there will be a wall of them all trying to get a rise. Get into the hotel safely and call me.”
West had been to awards shows, movie premieres, and even some pretty crazy parties. Flashbulbs, his name yelled repeatedly, and some heckling were par for the course. He knew the game, but he also knew that any smell of blood turned a manageable pain into a tornado in seconds. He felt trapped and worst of all powerless to defend the woman peacefully sleeping next to him.
He loved her and apart from some macho posturing, there was nothing he could do to keep her life from being turned upside down. He’d never felt the cage of celebrity more than he did when Vince called the security team and he listened to instructions for the simple task of getting them inside safely.
He gently woke Meg as they turned onto Mason Street. As if she sensed the change in energy, she sat up quickly, kissed him, and surveyed their approach to the hotel.
“You’re not ready for this, so I need you to listen to me.”
“Okay,” she said with no trace of humor and a touch of fear. Both squeezed his heart.
“There are paydays for pictures of us. I know that sounds nuts to a normal person, but these guys—”
“And women,” Meg added with a tight smile.
“And women, fine. They get a certain amount of money for clear shots of me, you and me, and any kind of conflict or altercation pays big for them.”
“Can’t we simply get out and let them have their pictures?”
“I tried that. Once. It doesn’t work under ordinary circumstances and it definitely won’t work now. They want me to lose it somewhere between the car and the hotel because it pays them six figures.”
“That’s insane.”
“It is. So, I need you to put this on.” He handed her one of the jackets.
Meg slid her arms into the dark material and was instantly engulfed. West pulled up the hood.
“Do you remember the first time you came back to the hotel?”
“West, I’m not a child. Can’t you drop me at home?”
“There’s a larger group there.”
“At my house?” She pulled the hood off.
He nodded and tried not to lose his patience, but Vince had his blinker on and they needed to be ready.
“Meg, I’m not trying to treat you like a child. I want to get through this. We are going up together. I need you to stay close to me, hood up, and don’t look up. Keep your eyes down and whatever you do, do not listen to what they are going to yell at us.”
“Okay.” She pulled the hood back up, tucked her bag under her arm, and with an eerie sense of calm, turned toward the door. West tugged on his own hood and drew her arm tightly under his.
First they were blinded by a wall of flash, and then all hell broke loose.
Meg had not gone to a lot of concerts in high school or college. She’d attended the occasional outdoor music festival or the symphony with her dad, but she was not well versed in typical concerts.
The summer before college, she turned eighteen and her friends took her to see Maroon 5. Meg didn’t know a lot of their music, but her best friend at the time, Kim, won tickets off the radio, so the four of them went. Meg wasn’t the girl to have posters of movies or bands on her walls growing up. She had posters, but hers were of a blue whale breaching or images from photo magazines she followed. Meg liked music, mainly classical. Even as a kid, it calmed her down. She also listened to her fair share of popular music, but she was never a fan. She didn’t understand that kind of adoration. Still didn’t.
At the entrance to the concert, two of the doors were jammed. It caused a bottleneck and to this day, Meg remembered the gigantic sway in the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd of screaming girls. She’d held close to her friends, but when she returned home, she told her parents it was the most frightening experience of her life. At the time, all she could do was move with the force, allow herself to be taken one way and then the other. Even after she was older and on assignment in the wild, that concert stood out as terrifying.
By the time West pulled her from the car and held her so close to his body she thought she might stop breathing, that concert, that moment of complete loss of control, seemed like a picnic.
“Hey, West. How are you feeling?” one voice called out as a wall of bodies made it almost impossible to move. Meg kept her head down, focused on all the feet. The security guys in front of them began parting the way through the crowd of flashbulbs.
“Did you bring your girlfriend home to meet the family? Something we should know?”
“Have you been sacked yet, West? Full Throttle has gone downhill anyway. You’re probably happy to get out now, right?”
Meg could feel the frantic pace of West’s chest. His warm breath swept across her face.
“I see your latest conquest is looking good lately. Are you part of her upgrade, West?”
“Does it bother her when those LA women throw themselves at you? Do they bother her?”
The crowd shifted as one of the security guards lifted a guy off his feet. Meg assumed he was set down somewhere else, but she didn’t look up. They were moving a little faster now. How the hell far away was the door? It didn’t seem this far last time.
West’s arm did what seemed impossible and tightened even more around her body.
“We should ask her. Hey, Meg. Does it bother you that your man has slept with most of Hollywood?”
She glanced up a couple of inches and could finally see the white stone of the hotel.
“Hey, West. How does she stack up against all your others? National Geographic is a far cry from Victoria’s Secret, am I right?”
West shoulder checked a guy who would not budge so hard that Meg heard something clatter to the ground.
“Son of a bitch,” West muttered in her ear, head still down. “Please don’t listen. They want you to react. Remember what I said. We’re almost there.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Meg felt someone pull her up and practically over the crowd. West was right behind her. She could still feel him even if he wasn’t touching her anymore. The door slammed and the faint sound of endless clicking was finally muted to bearable. She had loved the sound of her camera for as far back as she could remember. There were times she had been on assignment, waiting for the right shot, with only the hum of her lens near her ear.
The camera was her companion, the tool of her trade, but she’d never been hunted with one. Standing with her back against the cold metal of the service elevator, she wondered if she would ever get that sound, the constant assault at the hands of something she’d loved dearly until that moment, out of her mind.
Chapter Thirty
“I’m issuing a statement,” West said, pacing Hannah’s office the next morning. “I’m calling them out on that… that assault. That’s what it was, an assault. I’m an actor for fuck’s sake. You would have thought I was some… I don’
t know who would be treated that way. She was shaking, Hannah. Catatonic, staring ahead, shaking. She is not built for this insanity. She’s still alive on the inside, and I’m not letting them treat her that way. I’m issuing a statement.”
“You will do no such thing.”
“I will. You can’t keep me from issuing a statement. I’m entitled to a life. So is Meg. Stop looking at me like that.”
“I’m not looking at you in any way, but you need to relax. We should focus on the fines and your apologies. I’ve already satisfied the insurance company. You have a perfect history, so they have accepted this as a one-time thing. Have you called Gary?”
West nodded.
“Good. Wonderful. Okay, so I think things will be back to normal by tomorrow.” Hannah behind her desk and swiped through her phone. “They need you in wardrobe by eight. Something about refitting for a shirt. Then on set by ten. Do you see any issues with that schedule for tomorrow?”
He shook his head.
“Do you have any questions?”
“Yeah, do you ever listen to me? I mean I’m paying you a percentage of what I make and most of the time, I feel like you’re doing me a favor.”
“West, what is it you would like me to do for you, for all that money you’re paying me, that I’m not doing?”
“I’d like to know you’re on my side.”
“I am. You are halfway through the last movie in your contract. The studio already wants you for another two installments. If you decide to throw away the twenty million dollars they are going to pay you for those additional films, you can certainly do that. But this movie, the one you are filming now, needs to get made. I know you think I’m a cold bitch, but you don’t have time to play angry boyfriend. If she can’t handle herself with the rags and celebrity chasers, then maybe she’s not the right person for you”—West leaned in to protest, but Hannah held up her hand—“right now. Maybe she’s not who you need right now.”
“I want to issue a statement.”
“No.”
“Goddamn it, Hannah! You work for me.” West was trapped somewhere between collapsing and punching a wall. He needed to take a breath. He was yelling and he knew it wasn’t Hannah’s fault, but the bottom was about to drop from a life he desperately wanted. He at least needed to try to fix it, make it work with Meg. He spun away and paced Hannah’s office.
